Blood Calls to Blood
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: "Blood calls to blood." It was a saying as old as the world itself. And in the world's last days, remained just as true.


**Blood Calls to Blood**

The Shrouded Moors weren't particularly shrouded today. In fact, under the midday sun, she could see quite clearly.

And yet, there was no warmth from the sun this day. Grey were the clouds and cold was the breeze, cutting through wool, through flesh, through bone. She had resisted the urge to summon a ball of flame to her side for her warmth, knowing that the exertion required for such magic would drain her strength in the long run, even if it might keep offset the chill for a time. And time, indeed, was a luxury in this world now. So often people ran out of time, whether it be from disease, famine, or a monster's blade. Monsters that wore the forms of human and demon alike. And now, in this time of madness, monsters did the bidding of a demon. One who had been recalled back to Sanctuary in a temple situated in this land. A temple that she had kept far away from as she travelled across the Moors, in light of the rumours that had reached her ears. Of three calling to the Mother. Of the Mother being fed the blood of her children. Of the Mother of Sanctuary, the Daughter of Hatred, the Progenitor, coming to claim her wayward ilk. And, she reflected, drawing her shawl tighter as she marched on, there was no sign of deliverance from above. Scowling, she looked at the clouds in the sky. Beyond her sight, beyond her reach, was Heaven, or so the stories said. Stories that also spoke of one of their number unleashing carnage upon this world decades ago. An attack that had wiped out the Kingdom of Westmarch overnight, and sent the rest of Sanctuary into decay as well. Entsteig. Skovos. Even mighty Kehjistan had collapsed, after thousands of years of history. The world was one without hope, as it was a world without means to keep the horrors who lurked beyond the mortal realm at bay. And now, one such horror had claimed this world as its own. And it was why, after weeks of travelling through this Light-forsaken wilderness, she breathed a sigh of relief as she caught sight of the cottage on the moor, and the crackling fire by it.

_I've found her._

She quickened her pace, casting a furtive glance around the moor as she neared the dwelling. Most would call it madness to live in a place like this. In this case, the majority were correct. Living in a village granted one a modicum of safety in numbers. Living by oneself in this world was tantamount to suicide, for all but the strongest or craftiest. But if the tales were true, she could find a hero here. One who could defeat the evil that had been awoken in this land. One who could save the world, or at least, bring it back from the precipice. For she had seen what lay over the cliff named Oblivion, and she had no desire to fall down it.

She slowed her pace as she neared the fire, and more importantly, the one nestled by it. It was tempting to just stand there. To bask in its warmth. To take solace from fire that did not represent the inferno that lurked beneath this world, rising up to take them all. But she had not the time, nor inclination to stand in silence as another lurked by that fire. One with her back to her, squatting over it. Staring into the flame, oblivious to the world. She went to speak.

"You can share the fire, if you want."

But said nothing as the woman at the fire spoke first. She gripped her staff and looked at the woman as she turned around, giving a weary smile.

"I have little food however, and less inclination to share it. Unless of course, you can tempt me."

She gripped her staff even tighter. There was no malice in the woman's eyes or words, but she had seen her fellow fall for the tricks of demons before.

"What is your name?" the woman asked.

She cleared her throat. "Sheba. Of the Zann Esu."

"A sorceress then." The woman looked at her staff, then back at the one who held it. "I thought as much. A magic-user who follows the rules of long dead women, thinking that it'll save you." She looked back at the fire. "Well, spare me your lectures. I heard them so very long ago."

Sheba looked around. At the moor. At the hut. At the woman by the fire. She took a few steps closer and saw her extend her hands by the flame. Noticing that they bore the marks of age, and to her shock, her wrists the mark of a knife. Many knives, or one knife making the same cut over and over.

"Is there something you desire?" the woman asked.

"I-"

"Or is it something you need, Sheba of the Zann Esu?"

"Well, I-"

"Why have you come here?!" The woman got to her feet and took a step towards Sheba, the sorceress involuntarily backing away. "Answer me!"

The woman's voice had changed. A fire danced in her eyes. The very air around her seemed to crackle with latent energy. So with that in mind, and the despair the world face, Sheba answered truthfully.

"I seek The Nephalem."

The woman took a step back. The fire was gone, replaced by a look of…fear, Sheba wondered? It was hard to tell, as she turned to face the fire. As she raised a hand to her chin and began to whisper something that Sheba couldn't make out.

"The tales tell that The Nephalem found a home on the Shrouded Moors after defeating the evils that plagued the world," Sheba continued. "They-"

"No, no," the woman whispered. "No nephalem. No. Not anymore. No."

"Excuse me?"

The woman continued to mutter, and not at Sheba. "No. Not nephalem. Blood of angel and demon, blood of man, blood caught in-between. Blood is…" She let out a groan and topped forward. Sheba ran to help her.

"**Don't touch me!"**

And withdrew immediately as the woman glared at her and hissed. Like a wild dog turning against its master…before turning back to the fire and continuing to whisper.

"Mother has awakened. I hear Mother's voice. Blood calls to blood. Her blood is my blood. But not hers. Never will be hers. She cannot claim my blood."

"Mother," Sheba whispered. "You speak of Lilith."

"Whisper not her name." The woman looked at Sheba again and let out a sniff. She looked at Sheba's face, her chest, her legs, then back up again, before sniffing once more. "Same blood. But diluted. Good. Your blood is of less use to her."

"You speak as if you know her plans."

"Plans!" The woman giggled and began to pace around the fire, still muttering. "Oh what are a demon's plans? Plans within plans, always more plans. Plans that take a friend. A child. Loved ones. Terror had plans thrice over and still defeated, but terror one, as destruction swept the world, and hatred with it. All left to anguish in our pain, in our sin, as Heaven stands aside in deception." She stopped pacing and looked at Sheba. "Plans," she whispered. "I once had plans. But the voices…the voices…" She tapped her head. "Voices heard my plans. Thought I'd be free of them here. But she awoke, and her voice…her _voice_…gods, I hear her calling to me…"

Sheba sighed. "The Nephalem," she said. "Is she here? Can I find her?"

The woman chuckled. "You already have."

Sheba stood there, staring. The woman stared back, letting out a cackle. Sheba watched her roll up her sleeves and saw that the scars at her wrists wound their way up her arms.

"You. The Nephalem," Sheba said blankly.

"One of them. But yes. She who slew Diablo. She who bested Death. She who uncovered Greyhollow, and ventured into the Temple of the Firstborn itself."

Sheba shook her head. "Impossible."

"Really? How so?"

"The Nephalem was a hero. You…you are…"

"Li-Ming."

Sheba blinked.

"Li-Ming," the woman whispered. She looked back at the fire, the shadows dancing upon her face like imps in a furnace. "That was my name, once. Before death took everything. This world. My friends. Me."

"You. The Nephalem," Sheba repeated.

"That is what they called me." She looked back at Sheba. "I see you believe me not."

Sheba remained silent, and the woman's eyes darkened. "Or is it that you don't want to believe it? That the hero of the world could not be some poor hag living outside what remains of civilization?" She drew out a dagger from her shawl. "Well?"

Sheba glared at the woman. "Put that down," she whispered.

"Why? Afraid?" The woman took a step towards her and Sheba recoiled. Gritting her teeth, she summoned a ball of fire to her palm.

"Stay back," the sorceress whispered.

The woman chuckled. "Silly girl. This blade is for me. Not you."

She slit her left wrist and Sheba let out a cry. She rushed forward but with a flick of the woman's hand, she was left immobile. Standing there like a statue.

"Watch," the woman whispered. She held out her left wrist towards Sheba. "Watch, and see how blood calls to blood."

Sheba watched. Watched as the flesh healed itself with supernatural speed. Watched as the blood clotted. Watched as the blood that fell on the grass wormed its way towards the woman. Worming up under her shawl. Up her leg. She watched how the woman's head lulled back and her eyes glazed over. As she let out a gasp of ecstasy.

"Blood enters," she whispered. "Blood calls to blood. From where I entered this world, through it, the blood returns." She looked at Sheba and flicked her hand. The sorceress stumbled forward, only for the woman to catch her. Hold her. Bring her face close to her, and speak through yellow teeth.

"I have tried so many times," she whispered. "But this body…it refuses to die." She shoved Sheba forward, and turned around, heading for her cottage. "Now begone. It will be dark soon."

"It's midday," Sheba murmured.

"And?" The woman whispered. Sheba said nothing, so the woman let out a chuckle and grasped the handle of her cottage door. "The world is dark now. Darker than when I thought I saved it. Darker than even when I fought alongside the Fallen Angel. And I…" She looked around at Sheba, and the sorceress could tell that she was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't give you a better world."

She disappeared inside the cottage. And while every instinct told Sheba to run, she instead strode forward, using her staff to stop the door from closing. Taking a deep breath, she walked in…

…and released her breath to see that the interior of the cottage wasn't too bad. Stone and mud formed its walls. A pile of tattered books were in one corner, an equally tattered bed another. A fire crackled away, providing a surprising amount of warmth for a flame so small. And the woman was still here. She who took off her shawl and draped it over the bed. Wearing a tattered tunic through which Sheba could see the woman's scars.

"Are you still here?" the woman whispered.

Sheba thumped her staff down. "I am."

The woman said nothing. She just sat down on the bed, put her hands in her lap, and looked at the sorceress. Sheba guessed that she was forty, maybe fifty years old. But if she _was _The Nephalem, then that shouldn't really matter. Or so she thought. The Nephalem had bested the Angel of Death. It was said that The Nephalem had become one with death. Sheba didn't know what that meant, but she'd suggested that The Nephalem had become immortal, and few of her fellow clanswomen had disputed the possibility.

"Well?" the woman asked.

Sheba sighed. "You know why I am here."

The woman said nothing.

"You know that Lilith has returned."

The woman winced at Lilith's name, but otherwise said nothing.

"I don't know if you're The Nephalem, but if you are, the world needs you."

The woman scoffed. "The world needs to hurry up and die."

Sheba scowled. "Do you not care?" she asked. "Nephalem or not, hero or not, the world is burning."

The woman shrugged.

"I just said that Lilith has-"

"Speak not her name!" The woman got to her feet again and drew out the dagger. "No. Not her name. Never. You…I…" She let out a shriek, and still holding the dagger, put both her hands to her head.

"Are you alright?" Sheba asked.

"Not her name. Blood calls to blood. No. Not my blood." She looked at Sheba. "Not my blood!"

"Li-Ming, you…"

The woman shrieked. She half lunged, half fell towards Sheba, who was able to sidestep. She tried to help the woman up, but let out a yell as she swung her blade towards her. It cut through her tunic, and drew blood. She dropped her staff and staggered back, clutching at the wound.

"Blood. Weak blood." Li-Ming looked at Sheba, before turning around, looking at the fire. "I see you," she whispered.

Sheba was barely listening. Maybe the girl was The Nephalem, maybe not. Either way, she was clearly mad.

"I…no. No, you cannot have me."

_Esu damn it, what are you on about? _She picked up her staff.

"Blood. My blood. Not yours."

It might have been Sheba's imagination, but the fire appeared to be getting brighter. And hotter. And-

"No," Li-Ming whispered. "Get away. Get away!"

"Li-Ming, what the hell are you-"

The fire went out, leaving the cottage in darkness. Scowling, Sheba tried to ignite a flame between her fingers. Tried, and failed. So tried again. And again. And succeeded on the third time.

_Oh Light…_

And saw Li-Ming. Her head turned around to face her. Saw the embers in the fireplace, and the shadow they cast on the wall above. A shadow of no man or woman, but something else. A creature of horn and wing. One that moved as surely as Li-Ming did.

"_This child thought she could escape."_

Li-Ming's mouth moved, but it was not her voice.

"_This child thought I had not seen her."_

It was a soft, calming voice. One of seduction. One of sin. One that filled Sheba with terror to the core.

"_This child did not come to her mother's side when I called." _

Sheba's eyes widened. "Lilith…"

Li-Ming, or the creature controlling her, knelt down and with a finger, drew Isendra's blood onto it. Blood that her blade had spilt earlier. Slowly, she put the finger between her lips. Slowly, she took it out again. The finger was clean.

"_Dirty false blood. Watered down by Inarius's ilk." _She looked down at the blood on the ground. Then Sheba. _"I think I will spill more of it."_

Li-Ming lunged at Sheba. Before the sorceress could react, she'd tackled her to the ground, her staff falling out of her hand. Cackling, screaming, she tried to bring the blade down into Sheba's chest. And screaming herself, not in rage but in terror, Sheba tried to keep her at bay.

"_Little child, little child, bearer of blood from foe reviled!"_

Sheba continued to scream. She was able to keep Li-Ming's blade at bay, but not without cost as it drew blood from her arms and skin. Nothing lethal. But every slice cut deeper than the mere surface of her flesh.

"Li-Ming," she said.

The woman continued to cackle. Continued to try and kill the mortal before her.

"Fight it!"

Something flickered in The Nephalem's eyes. Fire. And not that of that which lurked below the cold earth.

"You bested Terror. You bested Death. You can resist her."

"_Silly girl," _the puppet whispered. _"Children always fall in line with their parents in the end. For after all…does blood not call to blood?" _

Sheba tried to respond, but Li-Ming flicked her hand. A force pinned Sheba's entire body to the ground. The Nephalem rose her blade. Sheba screamed, and closed her eyes…

Nothing happened. She was still alive. Bleeding from half a dozen cuts, but still alive. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Li-Ming was there, the dagger in her hand. Her eyes milky white. Her body drenched with sweat.

"Li-Ming?" Sheba whispered.

The Nephalem stumbled back up. She must have broken her spell as well, because Sheba could do the same. She grabbed her staff and looked at the woman before her. Both her hands to her head again. Whispering something.

"Li-Ming?"

"Blood calls to blood. Three call to three. Terror begets Hate, and Hate Begets Destruction, and Destruction begets Death, so in Death, there is Terror, which begets Blood, which begets Hate, and…"

"Li-Ming?"

"No!" She spun round and yelled at the fire. "I am not yours! Do you hear me? **Not! Yours!" **She rose the dagger, and from where she stood, Sheba could see it was parallel with her neck.

_Oh Light, no-_

She cut it.

"No!" Sheba yelled and grabbed Li-Ming, spinning her around to face her. The blood was pouring out of her neck, but the wound was already healing.

"Here," Isendra said. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a rag, and tried to press it against the woman's wound. However, Li-Ming didn't oblige. She rose her palm and sent Sheba flying across the cottage, smashing against the bed with enough force to break it. She let out a cry – not just from the pain, but from seeing The Nephalem before her. Cutting her throat again, and again, and again. Cutting it so fast, and so viciously, that her healing abilities couldn't keep up.

"No," Sheba begged. "Please…"

"Won't take me. Not my blood. Not yours. Not my blood…"

"The world needs you," Sheba rasped. She staggered to her feet, but not soon enough to stop Li-Ming from falling down to her knees before plunging the dagger into her stomach. Again, and again, and again. So much so that before Sheba stumbled over to her, she was already lying on the ground of her cottage, blood pouring out of her body. This time, not going back into it.

"Not yours," Li-Ming whispered. "Not yours." She looked at Sheba, and for a moment, the sorceress saw something in the woman's eyes. A look that she had only ever seen in the eyes of children in this world.

"Isendra?" Li-Ming whispered.

Sheba knew not who that was. But it mattered not, as The Nephalem, the slayer of Diablo, the Master of Death, finally lay down on the wood floor and died.

_She's gone._

She knelt there, staring in shock. Bleeding. Bruised. Breathing like a stuck pig. Before at last, turning her gaze to the fireplace. To the crackling embers. And the shadow that resided above them.

"You," Sheba whispered. She got to her feet. "I know who you-"

A scream ripped through the air. A scream that eclipsed Sheba's as she covered her ears in a bid to stop it. A scream that was like a thousand nails, each hammered into the back of her skull. A scream that was accompanied by a firestorm, as the embers became a tornado of flame. One that swooped down, guided by a demonic hand, to consume the body that lay before it.

"_This child is mine. Her blood, and body, are mine. As is my right."_

Isendra recoiled as the flame took Li-Ming's body. Stripping it down to the bone, and then to ash, before being drawn back into the fireplace. Before the fire, as if representing Li-Ming's last breath, erupted into a fire that took the walls around it.

_Get out._

The fire was taking everything. Wood, stone, all of it. All but the shadow, who lay there on the wall, above the flames.

"_All of you will be mine."_

_Get out, _Sheba told herself.

"_In the end, you too shall be mine." _The shadow reached out, its hand leaving the wall. Claws reaching out through the gloom, cutting through the air, reaching out for Sheba, as she stood in silence, waiting for the end.

"No!"

She waited no longer and ran for the door. A burning scaffold fell down, blocking her exit. Without pause, she channelled her own magic, casting a ball of flame that blasted the scaffold aside, and the door off its hinges. Allowing her to dive out onto the grass as the cottage collapsed under the flame.

Trembling, coughing, still lying on the grass, Sheba looked back at the cottage. At the fire still burning under the midday sun. At the smoke that rose from the ashes. And the shadow that drifted away, before fading into the air.

_I failed._

The Nephalem was dead…at best. At worst…she coughed again, struggling to breathe. She couldn't think about that. Her nightmares only came to her when she was asleep, and she had no desire to experience them during the day, such as it was. For the clouds had become darker, covering the sun. Casting an eerie twilight upon the land.

_What do I do now? _She got to her feet, and cast her gaze around the Moors. _What do any of us do?_

She had no answer. And none was provided by the fire. All she knew was that The Nephalem was dead.

And, as she put a hand to her wounds, the warm red fluid feeding the soil, that blood called to blood.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, _Diablo IV _is a thing. That's neat I guess. _

_I suppose one of the most prominent questions is what happened to The Nephalem. My gut tells me is that they're going to do something similar to _Diablo II_, what with the whole 'corrupted hero' thing. Which you could argue fits thematically I guess. I mean, the D2 heroes canonically did fairly well for themselves after the game (well, Isendra, Cassia, and Xul did at least), so maybe it's time to go back to suffering? Still, with Lilith being the big bad, you could probably do something interesting with her and the D3 protagonist(s) given the whole nephalem bloodline thing._

_Anyway, drabbled this up._


End file.
